How I got here

 I had a few good friends; I would say three. At that time I would not include my husband on that list. I’m sorry to say, we felt the loss of our daughter totally differently. Or at least we showed it different. I remember sobbing in the bathtub because my breasts ached from not having her. I remember sobbing and looking up what it means to grieve. I didn’t find what it meant to grieve, but I found the steps of grief. I found them to be mean, like brutally mean. I couldn’t figure out where I was on the step’s of grief. I was all the steps and yet none of the steps. I was back-and-forth, I was neither here nor there and I didn’t feel like there was anything that was helpful to me. Yes, I had friends who were supportive and one friend who had gone through a tragic loss herself (she helped me a lot). But at the end of it all I had to realize that I was my own hero. No, I couldn’t do anything alone, I could never have gotten through it by myself. But if I wasn’t willing to choose to walk through the pain, to walk through the discomfort, to walk through the sadness and the heartache and feel everything… I may never have gotten better. Better? Really. No, not better the way you think. Better... as in “I am doing better”... not, “all better”. The struggle will never end. It just changes. What I needed to know was I was right where I was supposed to be. Those stages of grief which I read about were not real to me. They may be real in a, “I’m a therapist and I’m going to look at you and try to figure you out” kind of way. But when you’re going through grief. I would never suggest anybody look up what grief means. All that I needed to know at that time, was that I was right where I needed to be. What I felt was exactly what I should’ve been feeling. If I felt everything all at once, that was fine. Normal. I could’ve been feeling all the stages of grief at once, sometimes just two or three, or sometimes nothing at all. No feelings. Just dead. Sometimes I want it to be dead. Actually, a lot of times. There was weeks and weeks which felt like an eternity. 

A hand to hold, a hug. Talking to someone who understands the pain of a tragic loss. Hearing a voice of true sympathy and compassion. Those things are necessary to get better (you know what I mean by better). Did I have that? I had my children. I had a husband who was grieving in his own way. He couldn’t understand my feelings or if he did understand them, I didn't feel like he understood them. Our kids, at times made me worry and panic, and at other times, they brought me back to life. Eventually I felt some healing. I got the hug that I longed for. And I heard the voice of love telling me that I was going to be ok. I learned to embrace the pain, even lay down with it. I learned to cry unapologetically. Eventually, I decided that a life without purpose is no life at all. It took me a long time to decide that after my daughter’s death. But it’s a decision that I will live for. I will live for my purpose. I will live for my greater calling. Yes, I will live for my children and my husband and all the things that are part of me as a human. But it’s also about the greater. The eternal. It’s about embracing the centre of me, the “I AM”. I can happily say that “I AM” there now. I am living with noble purpose. I don't know everything, I'm still learning and struggling as I go. But I am struggling happily. Now I can be that real relatable guide for others. I am figuring this out. And I am doing it with purpose. In my podcast "Living With Noble Purpose", I share my stories and I focus on regrounding, making plans, and moving forward. Grief and loss is just one tool in my belt that I bring to my listeners. I know what it is like to sit in a life that seems useless. I know about disappointment and hardship.  And I know a beautiful path through it. I don't want you to look back on your life with apology or regret. I want you to look back on the wellness, happiness, hope and love you created for yourself and those around you.